When Everything's Made to be Broken
by hhrpryd42
Summary: Late one Sunday afternoon in their sixth year, Hermione finds Harry alone and frightened, traumatized by the events at the DoM and unable to live a normal life. Drawn into the depths of despair herself at the sight of her best friend, what will she do to


**When Everything's Made to be Broken**

Being a tale of hurt and comfort, love and compassion

Written by Misao7

In a one-day frenzy of writing

Do not sue the author for stealing characters

This is a fanfiction, smart one.

Do not sue for lack of plot

This is just an angst-fest, albeit a good one.

Enjoy.

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_And I'd give up forever to touch you_

'_Cause I know that you feel me somehow_

_You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be_

_And I don't want to go home right now_

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"Come on Lavender!"

"Yeah, go Parvati!"

"Go go go!"

It was a brilliant late Sunday afternoon at Hogwarts. The late April sun shone brightly overhead and reflected off of the glassy surface of the lake. There were no classes all afternoon, and by some rare feat of magic no teacher had assigned homework the preceding Friday. Hogwarts's 1000 plus students were spread out over the vast grounds, enjoying this wonderful day.

"Push!"

"Harder, Brown!"

"Ten Galleons on Parvati!"

"Match you – twelve on Lavender!"

The sixth-and-seventh-year Gryffindors and a few others were making the most of this godsend. They had selected a sun-golden spot on the freshly mowed lawn and were holding a field competition of sorts. Lavender and Parvati were racing each other in their complicated gymnastics routines. Parvati currently held the lead with two feet on Lavender, but the other girl was catching up.

Ron was red-faced from bellowing. "LAAAAA-VEN-DERRRR! C'MON!"

Equally loud was Padma Patil. "Parvati, Parvati, come on girl!" A stream of Hindu words. "Keep it up!"

At last the girls came onto the final five yards. Parvati looked to be ahead with her steady stream of back handsprings but then Lavender surged ahead with an explosive three cartwheels in a row – Ron turned purple in the face – and closed the match.

"YEAH!"

Seamus, Dean, Hermione, and Ron raced forward to douse a red-faced but laughing Lavender with water. "You better've won that one," Seamus extolled with a glint in his eye. "I 'ad twenty Galleons on you! Take that, Michael Corner…" He threw one final cupful on Lavender's already soaking hair and ran off. Hermione playfully yanked one of Lavender's perfect braids and grinned happily at her friend.

Parvati ambled over; accompanied by her little entourage of Padma, Ginny, and a fifth-year Hermione didn't know. "Nice one, Lav!" Parvati threw her arm around Lavender and winked. "Didn't think you had it in you."

"Oh-ho-ho, you haven't seen _anything_, Patil."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, that's right."

"I don't think so." Parvati looked at Hermione. "What do you think?"

The now-tame-haired girl bit her bottom lip and pretended to think. Hermione had blossomed over the last summer. Already pretty before, she had somehow gotten her hair straightened and now wore it up more often. Something had happened over the summer – she fit into Lavender's clothes a lot better. She was the hottest ticket around Hogwarts, with at least ten boys per house lusting after her – all but Slytherin. Malfoy wouldn't touch her even if she was holding a ticket to Durmstrang.

The strangest thing, however, was that no matter how much Parvati, Lavender, and Ginny griped at her, she wouldn't up and get a boyfriend. Terry Boot, Roger Davies, Robert Jameson, even current stud James Albertson had all asked her out, and she had said no every time. Rumor had it that Hermione Granger had a crush, but nobody in the school had the slightest inkling of who, not even Hermione herself. It was Parvati and Lavender's life's mission to find out. Little did they know, however, that later on, all it would take was a peek into Hagrid's pumpkin patch. They would look upon it as an opportunity wasted.

"Don't know." Hermione deadpanned, lip curling into a teasing smirk. "Lavender beat you pretty good, Parvati. You'd need to stop eating all those éclairs at breakfast to put on speed like that."

The gaggle of Gryffindors burst into appreciative laughter. Hermione grinned and patted a giggling Parvati on the back, assuring her that she was just kidding. Seamus grabbed Lavender and shook her hand generously, pouring half his gold into her pocket. Ron grudgingly gave up a Sickle, reluctant to part with his newfound wealth.

"Come on, Ronald," Luna Lovegood drifted to his side. "Just a Galleon."

"Just a Galleon?" Ron exclaimed, horrified, brandishing a Galleon in her face. "It's not just a Galleon! Luna, this here represents a week's worth of fireworks off of Fred and George!"

"Ay," Lee Jordan shook his head mockingly. "They've raised prices, they have. They're a Galleon per box now. If you're looking for the Conflagration Deluxe, that is."

Ron crumpled. "Really?"

"Yeah." Lee smiled. "Sorry, man. Help you if I could, but…" he sighed. "My money was on Parvati. Thought she was going to win, mind you, mainly because Ron bet against her."

Ron choked into his cup of water. "Excuse me?!'

"You heard me, ickle Ronniekins!"

"Only Fred and George call me that, you –"

Ron and Lee burst into a gleeful argument concerning the many nicknames of Ron Weasley while Seamus, Dean, and the rest of the gaggle looked on. Hermione detached herself from the group with a parting pat on Lavender's shoulder and set off across the grounds, having better things to do than listen to Ron turn purple in the face again. There was something she had to do. Something a lot more important.

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As usual when she walked across the grounds this year, a large number of boys waved and whistled as she passed. Hermione stalwartly ignored them and continued on her path, intently focused on her goal – to find Harry. It didn't seem fair to have fun without him.

Harry had withdrawn into a depressing state after the events at the Department of Mysteries in the previous year. Refusing to take part in any of the usual merrymaking activities, he had instead thrown himself into his schoolwork and Quidditch, nearly beating Hermione at their midterm exams the previous winter. Ron and Hermione were desperately worried for him – more Hermione than Ron – but there was nothing they could do. People rarely caught a glimpse of Harry Potter anymore, and when they did, they said he looked like he was ill, or that he had just finished Quidditch practice.

That Sunday, Hermione and Ron hadn't seen Harry since breakfast, when he had grabbed a piece of toast at Hermione's insistence and then tramped off somewhere to do God knows what. He hadn't been to lunch, either. They'd checked in the Owlery, his dormitory, the Room of Requirement, all his usual haunts, but there was nothing. No Harry. But Hermione thought she knew where she was. They were just looking in the wrong spot.

She walked at last down the rough-hewn stone steps leading down to Hagrid's house, heart pummeling. There was nobody here. Everyone was on the magnificent front lawn. Hagrid's house wasn't getting any sunlight. The bulk of the castle lay in its path. Hermione's heart beat faster when she realized there was a dot of black amidst the oranges and yellows of Hagrid's magical, year-round pumpkins.

She approached carefully, taking care to let him know she was coming. Harry could be scary these days.

He was leaning against the biggest one in the patch, a monstrous orange behemoth. Hermione knelt down next to him and realized with a jolt that he was –

"Sleeping." She said wonderingly. "He's asleep."

He looked peaceful. Much unlike his daily self. His eyes were closed and his hair was shadowing his face, blocking his forehead from view, but Hermione didn't want it to be visible. She knew it well enough. That bloody scar.

When would people stop thinking of him as The Boy Who Lived and start calling him The Boy Who Lives? Harry was a person, not just a machine, cranking out miraculous escapades day and night. He had fears, dreams, and hopes, and he had a wonderful sense of humor. People just couldn't see that. It was destroying him, making him feel like he had to have that 'saving-people thing'. Just because the world wanted him to be a hero.

The wind blew lightly in the trees overhead, shifting Harry's bangs and revealing his scar. Hermione bit her lip and reached out carefully, shifting the lock of hair back in place with a feather-light touch. There. That was better. Here was Harry the Person.

"…mione…"

He was shifting in his sleep, forehead wrinkling and fists clenching. Shocked, Hermione reached out to steady his arm, but he lashed out and gripped it with an iron Seeker's grip.

"No…'Mione…Sirius…'Mione…no, don't…don't, don't – touch – don't you bloody touch them…don't touch them…no…"

His grip tightened. Hermione felt her heart racing, a light sweat breaking out on her forehead. "Harry! Harry, wake up!" She tugged on his arm lightly, trying to keep his lashing feet down. He was obviously in the throes of a nightmare. "Harry!"

"LEAVE HER ALONE!" Harry's eyes jerked open and he sat bolt upright, eyes wild with fear. His breath came in short, gasping, sucking dollops, as if he was sucking water instead of air. "Hermione!" His desperate eyes found her scared ones, his arms swiftly enveloping her in a tight, crushing hug.

"Harry…" Hermione gasped. "I can't –" She stopped.

He was scared.

She realized this in a jolt of surprise and understanding. It was in his crushing embrace, his heaving breaths, his nightmare. He was terrified. He needed her.

Hermione gently loosened his iron grip and hugged him back, gently rocking him back and forth. He was sobbing, the same pitiful wail that he had emitted three years ago when he thought Sirius had betrayed his parents. She held onto him tight, letting her hold him, gently shushing him and calming him down.

"Hermione…they – they were after you, and I –"

"Shhh…"

Gradually, his muscles unclenched and he sat back down. Hermione gently let go of him and gripped him on the shoulders, looking into his still-afraid emerald pools of light.

"I'm fine, Harry. I'm all right. Sirius…Sirius is happy. He'd want you to be, too." She bit her lip again, a habit that would never go away. "I want you to be."

"You don't get it, you don't get it…" Harry buried his face in his hands. "I couldn't save you, I couldn't help Sirius…they were going to kill you, 'Mione, they'd already taken him…Ron…he was dead, because of me, and Fred and George and – "

"Shhh…just a nightmare…" She hugged him again, sadness overwhelming her. "It's all right."

Where had the cheerful, innocent eleven-year-old of six years past gone? In his place was a broody, aged, old soul with problems nobody should have had. It was his name – those four life-defining syllables – that had made him like this. He didn't have to live up to their wishes, he didn't have to, but he did, and it was killing him.

Harry leaned back and sighed, closing his eyes again. There was a long silence between them, a peaceful silence that was foreboding and comforting at the same time. Hermione's hand rested on Harry's arm, a security blanket against the rest of the world.

Harry spoke again, in a strained, pained voice laced with undertones Hermione couldn't identify. "I'm scared. I'm just…scared all the time, 'Mione. They could come for you, you know. They could get Ron and you, like they got Sirius."

"Harry, Dumbledore –"

"Dumbledore can't do anything. How did Voldemort get into the Ministry last year if Dumbledore's so powerful and good?" His voice was bitter now. "You could've died, and he didn't do a thing until it was too late for Sirius."

Silence again.

The breeze ruffled the trees again, bringing with it the sounds of merrymaking emanating from the front lawn. The world seemed so small from where they were. In their own private little world, with pumpkins serving as earth and sky. Nothing could touch them.

Once again, Harry broke the silence, in a low, muttering, gruff voice. "Why – why are you here?"

This caught Hermione's attention. "Come again?"

"Why are you here? You could be with Ron, and Lavender, and Ginny and Seamus, having fun and laughing. Instead you're here with me." He looked up at met her eyes. "Why?"

For the first and certainly not last time in her life, Hermione felt herself at a loss for words.

Why was she with Harry?

"I…" She mouthed wordlessly. "I…I guess…I was worried about you."

"Worried." A statement, not a question.

"Yeah. Harry, you're different. You're just different. You've changed so much, you're not Harry anymore." Was that wetness by her eyes? "Ron's given up on you, and I…I just…"

She couldn't help it. Months upon months' worth of worry, fear, pain, and distress came to an awful crescendo in that moment, solidifying in silver tears of pain that coursed down her cheeks, bringing with them a flood of gut-wrenching despair. He was getting worse. He was losing himself. He was dying. Her Harry, the central focus of her life for the past six years, was slipping away.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and blocked it out, trying to still the waves of grief, but she lacked the mental strength to do it alone, on her own. Her mind kept endlessly repeating the same mantra – Slipping away, slipping away, slipping away…what was she going to do?

Hurt. Waves and waves of it. Despair, loneliness, fear and distress. He would die. He would. They'd always known he'd die. Somehow, someplace, Voldemort would catch up – the bloody bastard! – and her Harry would be gone in a flash of green light.

A shift somewhere around her, indistinct in the fog of despair shrouding her form. Suddenly, warmth flooded her senses as she was enveloped in a safe, warm hug, and Harry kissed her.

It wasn't a particularly good kiss. He wasn't good at it, she wasn't good at it, neither of them had ever done it before (Cho Chang's little tryst didn't count) and Hermione's mouth was wet. But it was a kiss all the same. And it sealed for Hermione the golden question – she loved Harry. Harry, plain and simple. Her Harry.

She felt Harry hesitate, start to pull back, felt the undercurrent of fear coming from him. She wanted to laugh. He thought he had sprung it on her. He thought she was upset.

_And I'd give up forever to touch you_

He was quite wrong.

_'Cause I know that you feel me somehow_

Hermione reached up and flung his arms around his neck, mouth searching for his in a desperate, clinging kiss. Harry wrapped his arm around her waist and deepened the kiss, wanting all of her, completely Hermione, but she pulled away –

_When everything's made to be broken_

And his heart stopped –

_I just want you to know who I am_

But she was smiling through her tears and it was all right.

"Harry…" She gasped. "I'm sorry…"

"No." He whispered back. "I am. For making you cry. I…I hate it when you cry."

_I just want you to know who I am_

She closed her eyes and snuggled against him, against his warmth, and rested her head on his shoulder. Looking up at his perfect features she was happily surprised to find a ghost of a smile flittering across it.

It was good to have Harry back again.

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When evening set in, Rubeus Hagrid, gamekeeper of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, tramped out to his pumpkin patch to inspect his pumpkins, but what he found was a lot more interesting than his orange globules.

It was Harry and Hermione, snuggled against each other, dead asleep and smiling. Hagrid knew what a strange occurrence that was for Harry. He also knew that the bruises on Hermione's lips were not natural. Smiling slightly, he gently picked the two of them up in his half-giant arms and took them back to his cabin, resting them on his bed. They wouldn't let go of each other, not even in their dreams.

Hagrid grinned and set off at once for the castle with a spring in his step. Minerva would need to levitate them back to their dormitories, and after that, he had a bet to settle with the Transfiguration teacher.

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_And I don't want the world to see me_

'_Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken _

_I just want you to know who I am_

_I just want you to know who I am…_

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A/N: Cheerios…

Like it? I hope you do. I don't normally do major angst-fests like these, but tonight was special. Another one-shot by the omnipotent (I wish) Misao7. Flames are welcomed only if backed by substantial proof.

I'm so, so sorry for slacking off on every other thing I've promised…I needed to get this out.

Thanks for reading,

Misao7


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